


This Is How We Begin

by Singular_Echo



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Dark relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Off-screen cannibalism, Vague descriptions of violence, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singular_Echo/pseuds/Singular_Echo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He gasped, the pain coming back and lighting up his brain, accenting the pleasure being given to him. This was perfection, this. A perfect design, his own perfect design. <i>Their</i> perfect design.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is How We Begin

**Author's Note:**

> I... I wrote a thing. I hope it's a good thing.  
> This is my first time writing in a good long while, and my first time posting to AO3.  
> Also, un-beta'd, so if I missed something, sorry. Possibly a little out of character, it just kinda ran away from me.

It was like an out of body experience. He didn’t know what was really happening, barely remembered how they got to this stage. He felt broke open. Raw. Vulnerable.

Protected though, from everything outside from them. Against the wall as they were, his skin felt sensitive and his senses felt dull to everything else but the feel of this happening. Like his was the chest sliced open to get to lungs, his was the body pumped full to grow outward, his was the back ripped open to make wings. Beautiful, somehow. He understood, he always understood. Could barely stop himself sometimes, from absorbing everyone around him into himself, into his very nature.

He became aware again in parts. His legs were still splayed, not truly supporting him. There were lips on his neck. Arms, strong arms (so very strong), were keeping him up. He felt weak, his heart beating like a wild thing inside his chest.

The body between his legs moved, pressing closer. He moaned, accepting the intrusion, into his body, into his mind. Finally. His hands were weak as well, barely able to grip the arms around him, the biceps thick, bulging to hold him in place. His eyed were lidded, his head tilted back enough to see the books lining the spacious room, the desk in the center.

A hard bite to his shoulder made him whimper, cock twitching and body straining to take more of the man in front of him. The other was hard ( _so very hard_ ) inside of him. Thick, splitting him open further, possessing him in ways that no one else had truly managed.

A word in his ear, barely heard under this fog of sensation the other man was wrecking him with. _Consumed_ by this man, entirely.

No, not entirely, not yet.

He understood, still. Now that he knew, now that he was known by the other, owned by him. It was comforting, this sensitivity to the other man, the feeling of belonging and kinship and darkness.

There was blood on his thighs, his hands. Smeared with it, like a work of art, a painting. His own, he remembered. His blood on the arms holding him, put there by his own hands. The deep scratches on his hips, the bites littering his inner thighs rubbing intoxicatingly against the smooth suit material at the others hips.

He gasped, the pain coming back and lighting up his brain, accenting the pleasure being given to him. This was perfection, _this_. A perfect design, his own perfect design. _Their_ perfect design.

He cried out at a particularly hard thrust, the hands gripping him harder, bruising his flesh. These marks (beautiful, possessive marks) would last, this would last, _they_ would last. The other would make sure of it, there was no other option. Finally overcome with pleasure, unable to hold back anymore, he gasped and gripped the body around him tighter.

“ _Hannibal.”_


End file.
